


Perfectly Good At It (December 2011)

by escritoireazul



Series: Tied Up in Strings [5]
Category: Glee
Genre: BDSM, Canon Jewish Character, F/F, F/M, Face Slapping, Female Jewish Character, Multi, Polyamory, Punching, Sado-Masochism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-21
Updated: 2011-08-21
Packaged: 2017-10-22 22:14:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/243159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/escritoireazul/pseuds/escritoireazul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rachel Berry has a request for one Lauren Zizes, resident badass.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perfectly Good At It (December 2011)

**Author's Note:**

> Author's note: This is a transformative work of fiction for the television show Glee. Glee poly family for the win.

_'Cause I may be bad, but I'm perfectly good at it  
Sex in the air, I don't care, I love the smell of it  
Sticks and stones may break my bones  
But chains and whips excite me_  
"S&M" Rihanna

Out of all the glee parties Lauren’s attended since last year, Mercedes’ are the best. (They still don’t compare to the wrestling parties, but she still attends those, too, so it’s not really a competition, more like they complement each other.)

They spent all summer lounging in and around her pool, impromptu parties that sometimes included frozen alcoholic drinks when Puck hooked them up with booze, but mostly were just everyone hanging out. They still split off into smaller groups sometimes -- Mercedes, Kurt, and Quinn and their glossy magazines; Rachel and Kurt talking Broadway; Quinn, Sam, Artie, and Lauren tearing apart the summer blockbusters; Tina, Mercedes, and Santana lazily gossiping; the football boys talking strategy for next season; Brittany and Mike -- and Matt, when he came out to visit for almost a month -- cannon balling into the pool to see who could make the biggest splash -- mixing and matching depending on what was going on, but after everything, after Nationals and all the horrors -- and, okay, some good times too -- of junior year, they felt like a team. They felt like friends. They felt like a _family_.

(And sure, describing them as a _family_ got a little weird after Finn and Lauren’s joint birthday party back in October, but then she realized family could mean more than one thing, and some family you fuck.)

But summer was months ago, and now they’re staring down the new year, their last semester of high school, their last semester _together_. Mercedes’ parents are out for the night at their own party, as swanky as it gets in Lima, and the whole glee club, even the freshmen and sophomores who aren’t involved in the complicated dating knot of the seniors, has gathered at her place to celebrate.

There’s plenty of beer, wine coolers, and even champagne. Brittany mixes it with orange juice for them, and the perfect mimosas are one of the tastiest things Lauren’s ever had. She leaves the others dancing and playing drinking games, and takes her fourth mimosa out to the enclosed porch. The walls are all glass; in the summer, the big windows open, but now they are closed and locked. It’s still noticeably colder on the porch than in the house, but after the alcohol heat rushing through her and the press of people crowded into one room, she appreciates the chill and the dark.

At least until the door to the house creaks open. She turns to look, expecting Puck -- he’s been pretty handsy all night, and hooking up suddenly sounds like the best idea -- but it’s not.

“Lauren,” Rachel flashes a big smile. She sways a little, and places one hand against the door frame, holding herself upright. “I need to ask a favor of you.”

Lauren squints at her and takes a long, slow drink of her mimosa. She licks orange juice and champagne from her lips after, then finally asks, “What do you want, Berry?”

Rachel licks her lips too. “Hit me,” she says, her voice breathy, “ _please_.”

Her glass is wet and slick and starts to slip between her fingers. Lauren clutches at it, holding it as tight as she can. She’s staring at Rachel, her mouth agape, and she hates looking like she’s caught off guard even when she is, but damn, that is maybe the last thing she expected to hear.

“What?” Damn it, she can’t even manage a comeback.

Rachel slides down the two steps and crosses until she’s standing right in front of Lauren. She leaves the door open behind her; down the hall, the warm light from the big family room spills out, but the lights are off in the formal dining room where the door to the porch is located, and though the party is loud and bright nearby, they feel isolated.

“I would like you to hit me.” She reaches out, but jerks her hand back before she finishes the move. “I did some research, and I believe I am a sadomasochist. That,” she says, as if she is the authority already, “is someone who receives pleasure from pain.”

“And you want me to bring the pain?” Lauren raises an eyebrow, or at least she thinks she does. Maybe she’s too drunk to actually manage it. Maybe this is all a weird drunk dream, and she’ll wake up cold and shaking on the porch, feeling pretty stupid.

“When Quinn hit me at Prom,” Rachel’s breathing kind of hard, but she takes her time with her words, carefully pronouncing each one, “it made me _feel_.”

“Why aren’t you asking Quinn?”

It’s hard to tell in the dark, but it looks like Rachel blushes. Her voice shakes a little when she says, “Quinn isn’t -- ready for all this. She was horrified right after. I can’t ask her to do that again.”

“But you can ask me to do something horrible.” She doesn’t actually mean it, but she wants to see what Rachel will say.

“It’s not horrible.” She steps closer, fully into Lauren’s space. “It’s wonderful.” Lauren looks down, caught for a moment by the way the neckline of Rachel’s shirt frames her breasts. Her chest rises and falls very quickly; she’s practically panting. “You like to hit people.”

“I like to wrestle,” Lauren corrects.

“But you know what you’re doing.” Rachel reaches out again, and this time she makes contact, curling her hand around Lauren’s wrist. Her hands are _tiny_ , and she can’t fully circle it, but she hangs on tight. “I know you can hit me and make it feel good, but not do any damage.” She licks her lips again, and Lauren can’t seem to stop staring at her. “I trust you to control it.”

Part of her wants to take a drink to cover her confusion, but Rachel is standing too close for that, her face turned up as she watches Lauren, as she waits. When Lauren doesn’t say anything, she carefully takes Lauren’s cup and steps away just long enough to set it on one of the little tables. When she returns, she’s closer than ever, so close her skirt swings against Lauren’s skirt.

“Hit me,” Rachel says, and her lips are glossy as they wrap around the words. “Hit me, Lauren. _Please._ ”

“Your,” but her voice cracks, and she has to stop. She swallows and tries again. “Your safeword is red.” Because Lauren’s done some reading too, first in fandom and then elsewhere when it was kind of intriguing. Rachel’s right, actually. Lauren does like to hit people. She likes to hit them and pin them and slam them around, and the first time she read about rough sex, it was a little like a revelation.

Rachel nods quickly and leans closer still. Too close, really, but Lauren stares at her cheek, picks the place she will hit, visualizes it. Nothing too hard, something open-palmed so it doesn’t do any damage.

Swinging at Rachel is much harder than she anticipates. Her mouth is dry, her lips sore; she licks them, drags her teeth along her bottom lip. Rachel keeps watching her, staring up at her; it takes Lauren a second to realize she’s matching her breathing to Lauren’s.

Even without much strength to it, the sound of the slap is loud. Rachel’s head turns with it, and she gasps for air. Her hands are shaking as she tilts her head toward Lauren again, her cheek already turning red, and says, “Again, please, hit me again.”

Lauren clenches her hands into fists, lets them relax, does it again. When she swings at Rachel, she’s careful to keep her right hand open. This time, she aims at Rachel’s left cheek, backhanding her, putting a little more strength into it. Rachel actually turns into it this time, and the sound she makes, this guttural noise in her throat, is sexy as hell.

“Again.”

She puts one hand on Rachel’s shoulder, holding her still, and then takes a step back, clearing a little room between them. Before Rachel can follow her, Lauren slams her palm into Rachel’s upper arm hard enough she can hear the thud of the blow.

“ _Yes_.” It comes out a hiss as Rachel bends forward. “Again.” Her shirt shifts with her movement, revealing more of breasts and the cleavage that’s probably mostly created by a really good bra. Lauren stares, struck by how perfect they are, how lovely, how her skin is bared and perfect for bruising.

It’s not a great angle, but Lauren brings her hand down hard and the slap resounds throughout the porch. Rachel cries out loud enough Lauren expects someone to hear and come looking, but the way her face contorts, the way she thrusts herself toward Lauren, silently begging for more, is enough to make Lauren hit her again three times, hard and fast across her breasts.

Rachel moans and sways so hard it looks like she might fall. That has to be why Lauren steps forward and grabs her, pulling her closer. For balance, not because she wants their bodies to press together.

“It feels so good.” Rachel’s voice is low and throaty, unlike anything Lauren’s ever heard come out of her mouth. She reaches up, looping one arm around the back of Lauren’s neck, and beams at her. “Give me more.”

“You can barely stand up.” Lauren shakes her head, but makes no move to push Rachel away or find her a seat or let her go.

“So hold me up.” Rachel pulls her lower lip between her teeth, and Lauren’s having a hard time breathing, the way Rachel smirks up at her coquettishly, unbelievably tempting. “Hit me again, Lauren. Touch me.”

Lauren walks her backward, her eyes never leaving Rachel’s mouth. They’re not far from one of the big windows; Rachel gives this light little squeal when Lauren presses her against it, the glass probably cold through her thin shirt, but she tugs Lauren closer.

“Hit me,” she says. She _orders_ , bossy once again. It’s annoying as hell because it _works_. Lauren pushes her harder against the window -- the glass is thick and reinforced, she doesn’t worry about it breaking -- and hits her, slapping the side of her breast twice.

Rachel straddles one of Lauren’s legs, pulling her even closer. “Again,” she demands. “Harder.” Now that Rachel is pinned between her and the window, both Lauren’s hands are free, and she takes advantage of it. She hits Rachel with her left hand and then her right, angling toward the bottom of her breasts as much as she can. Rachel moans and thrusts her hips forward; the parts of her breasts that Lauren can see are red.

Lauren closes her right hand into a fist, turns her body a little to clear some room, thrusts her leg more firmly between Rachel’s so she won’t fall, and punches her. She pulls most of the strength out of it, but it’s definitely a punch, right into the side of her breast, probably hard enough to leave a good bruise.

Rachel whines and grinds down on Lauren’s thigh. “Again,” she orders, but it’s not annoying now, not the way her eyes are so wide and dark, her mouth wet, her body squirming and warm. It’s an order, but she’s begging, too, and Lauren wants to hear her make another noise.

She punches her breast again, giving it a little more power, and Rachel lurches forward, burying her face in Lauren’s shoulder to muffle the noise she makes, wordless and dark and needy.

What’s strange about this isn’t that Lauren likes hitting her or that Rachel likes being hit, but that Lauren doesn’t really like girls sexually. It’s not been a big deal, these couple months they’ve all been dating, and the months before that, when the heat of summer cranked their flirtations onto high. Kurt and Blaine don’t like girls sexually either. Just because they’re all dating doesn’t mean they all have sex. Just because they -- care about each other doesn’t mean they’re sexually attracted to each other. So the fact that Lauren’s straight hasn’t been a problem at all.

And, okay, maybe to an observer she didn’t look very straight last month, when a bunch of the others headed out for a big Black Friday excursion. Sam wanted to get a couple things on deep discount for his siblings, Mercedes and Kurt go every year anyway, as do Quinn and Santana, and Rachel made a freaking chart of the sales they wanted to see, who had the best Early Bird Prices, and where they needed to go when, and then created maps for everyone. Lauren had no interest in getting up that early -- she’d see three a.m. for her parents, for wrestling, or for Puck, and only for him if she was seeing it because she was still awake at three a.m., not getting up to face the day -- so she and Brittany made plans to do some editing work on Fondue for Two.

Brittany’s mom brought them pie and tea. Lemon meringue pie. Brittany frowned at it for a long moment while Lauren worked on some transitions between interviews, and then laughed and grabbed Lauren’s arm.

“Remember that yellow dress?” she asks, her voice still lilting with laughter.

“What dress?” Lauren stares at her, but then she gets it. “God, that was horrible.”

“No, you looked delicious. I was going to show you, too.”

Wait, what?

Before Lauren realized what was happening, Brittany was in her lap, kissing her and working very talented hands under her clothes. Her mouth was even freaking better, when she finally made her way down, and Lauren lost track of how many times she came under Brittany’s lips and teeth and tongue.

What she does remember is the way Brittany sat back when she was finally satisfied, her mouth and chin wet. She wiped the back of her hand across her face, and beamed up at Lauren, her expression far more knowing and in the moment than Lauren is used to seeing from her. “I told you, delicious.” She rolled to her feet in a fluid movement that left Lauren a little breathless and that was kind of that. They ate their pie, finished editing, and Lauren left when Santana came over after the shopping was done.

Badass as she was, the first time she saw Brittany when they got back to school, and Brittany grinned and flicked her tongue across her lips once, Lauren brushed red as hell. Doesn’t mean she’s attracted to girls, though, just that Brittany is a sexual force to be reckoned with, by which Lauren means she’s freaking amazing.

And, okay, there was that time she made out with Tina at the birthday party in October, but everyone was making out -- that’s where all the pieces of this group thing really came together -- and okay, Tina was a really great kisser, so good that Lauren maybe wondered what it would be like to feel that mouth on her breasts and her cunt, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t straight.

Except Lauren’s starting to think she’s not. She’s starting to think she wants to hook up with Brittany again, see if she can learn those things she did with her tongue. She’s starting to think she wants to try them on Tina. She’s starting to think that Rachel fucking Berry feels really good squirming against her and grinding her thigh, and maybe she can make her come by hitting her if she gives her a little more help.

Lauren shoves her left hand down between their bodies, under Rachel’s skirt, into her underwear. She’s all slick warmth there, and though the angle is awkward and she’s never done this before, she’s not going to let that stop her.

Plus, she doesn’t have to do a lot of work. Basically, she cups Rachel, pushing her fingers into that warmth, her palm pressing against her clit. Rachel keens and grinds against her, setting a fast, shaky rhythm.

Lauren fists her right hand and slams it against Rachel’s hip. Rachel moves faster, her body bucking, and Lauren does it again, pressing her hand more firmly up into Rachel. Her hand is slick with her, and every time Rachel shudders and grinds down, Lauren feels a little more smug, a little more powerful.

Rachel throws her head back, slamming against the glass, and Lauren hesitates, but Rachel is still grinding and groaning. The long expanse of her throat is bare, the swell of her breasts, and Lauren can’t resist. She bends a little, and Rachel’s short enough it’s awkward, but when she bites down on the side of Rachel’s throat, sinks her teeth into the soft skin, Rachel clenches down on her fingers.

“Please, Lauren,” she whines, “ _please, please_.”

Then she’s coming, new wetness on Lauren’s hand, and her shaky gasps one of the sexiest things Lauren’s ever heard. Rachel comes and comes; it’s so long, so dragged out her arm starts to cramp and she has to stop biting and straighten up so her back doesn’t throb, but it’s worth it to see the look on Rachel’s face after, all her bossiness gentled into pleasure.

“Thank you.” She slumps against Lauren. “Thank you for giving me this.” One hand drifts up to touch the spot Lauren bit, where a bruise is already forming. When Rachel presses her finger against it, she hisses, but she’s smiling at the same time.

Lauren slips her hand free and steps back; Rachel slumps against the window, but manages to stay on her feet. Lauren’s fingers are sticky with Rachel, and she runs her thumb across her fingertips. It’s different from when one of the guys comes messily all over her hand, but similar, too.

“That’s from me.” At first, Lauren thinks it’s a question, but it’s not. It’s too dark to tell if Rachel is blushing. When she grabs Lauren’s wrist and lifts her hand, sucking Lauren’s fingers into her mouth, her tongue working across them, Lauren knows damn well she starts blushing, her cheeks hot, because _god_.

Rachel pushes away from the window and rises up a little on her toes. She hooks one hand at the back of Lauren’s neck and urges her down for a kiss. She tastes like alcohol and a little like sex and, yeah, Lauren needs to hook up with Brittany again, needs to learn how she uses her mouth.

And maybe she’ll put her head on Brittany’s thigh, let Brittany stroke her fingers through her hair, and talk to her about this whole sexuality thing, because Brittany, with all her beliefs and little jokes, is the one who is smartest about relationships and sexuality and _love_.

But for now, Lauren pulls back from Rachel to breathe, and then slings her arm across her shoulders. “Come on, Berry,” and it’s the same words as ever, but her voice has gentled, “let’s get something to drink.” She grabs her now watery mimosa in her free hand and together they head back to the others.

They must look thoroughly debauched, from the wolf whistles and grief they get. Lauren tries to bite back her smile, but Rachel beams at her and hugs her tight, and when Lauren settles onto the couch next to Puck, who immediately puts his arm along the back of the couch, leaning closer, she finally lets her happiness shine.


End file.
